Dean Is and Sam Is
by ZombieDork
Summary: The story of Sam and Dean from the time they could barely hold the pistol they were shooting, to much later, after all the pain and suffering is gone. Or at least they can pretend it is.
1. Nine and Five

Dean is nine and Sam is five. John hasn't been home in about a week and a half. Of course by "home," I mean the motel the Winchesters were currently inhabiting. Dean's been sitting on the stiff bed for about five hours straight reading an old comic book he's read about fifteen times already, with his shot gun by his side, ready to shoot if necessary. Sam's been moping around the small suite for the same amount of time; complaining, mostly.

"I'm bored!" Sam whines.

"Shut up!" Dean snaps, glancing at little Sammy from over the top of the book before continuing the epic journey of the comic he's experiencing again. He always wishes that the outcome would be different by the time he got to the end of it than the last time, but it was always the same: the superhero saved the day and kissed the curvy heroine. Dean always flips past that page, disgusted. Superheroes shouldn't kiss girls. That's gross.

"I'm hungry!" Sam moans, using all of his effort to climb on to Dean's bed and get on top of the annoyed nine-year-old. Maybe if he got in Dean's face, he would notice that Sam was upset.

But Dean slaps him away, and snaps "Sammy, leave me alone! I've got work to do!"-if you could call reading a comic 'work'-"Go watch T.V. or something!" Sam pouts angrily and stamps away. Dean looks up from his comic, again, and looks at Sam, again, but this time lingering. Sam's big, green eyes were welling with tears, and, though, he looked very angry, Dean could see that he was just sad. All Sammy wanted was attention from his big brother.

Dean grunted angrily, aggressively slapping the comic closed and throwing it on the bed.

"What'll it be Sammy?" he cooed, forcing a grin on his face as he headed for the miniscule kitchen, Sam trotting behind him "Mac and cheese or cereal?"

With the happiest, biggest smile on his face, displaying ever little tooth in his premature mouth, Sam wraps his stubby arms around Dean waist and squeals, "Cereal!"


	2. Fourteen and Ten

Dean is fourteen and Sam is ten. John's on a hunt, and the brothers are on lock-down.

"Keep the door locked," John ordered Dean before leaving for what may very well be a month-long absence. "Only go out for food." he added.

It's summer so the boys don't have to worry about school. Sam hated summers. Though the sun was glimmering brightly in that big, blue sky, he rarely got to feel the warmth on his skin. He rarely got to leave the old, ratty motel room that smelled of mold and mildew. He liked school. He liked having seven hours a day to pretend he was just a normal kid who only had to worry about homework and friends.

"Watch out for Sammy," was the last thing John said before heading out the door, running a meaty hand through Sam's shaggy hair as he passed the boy sitting cross-cross apple sauce on the floor.

Sam isn't sure if he likes it better when John's home or gone. It's not much different either way. When he's home, they're in the Impala, driving to another town where John'll drop off the boys and say "See ya," and be gone for another couple weeks. The only thing that really bothers Sam about his father being gone, is that there's never a guarantee that he'll return. There's always a chance that they'll be stuck in that motel room for a week without a phone call from Dad. Two, three. Then the motel manager will come banging on the door demanding the cash for another night, but they've spent all the money John's left them with. Sam and Dean are left alone in a smelly, old motel room with nothing. Nothing but each other and a manager who's about to barge through that wooden door, confused, demanding answers. And Dean's not going to know what to tell him. He's not going to know if John's going to come back. What's going to happen next. And Sam just sits and watches with tears in his eyes, because even though Dean assured him that "Dad's not gonna die. He's dad!" Sam always knew this day was coming.

Sam's gone through this scenario in his head so many times, but he never crosses the line that would truly make it possible. He doesn't make a plan, so if it does happen, he'll know what to do, because that just makes it seem all too real.

"Can't we just go out for a little while, Dean?" Sam whines, fiddling an action figure between his fingers. He's played with this toy so many times there's nothing much left for it to save the day from. Nothing left that the plastic man hasn't done, and Sam's just left deathly bored, nothing recreational thing left to do with the toy but twist its limbs in unnatural ways.

"We're only allowed out for food, Sammy." Dean reminds him, "And we've got plenty!"

Sam groans, "What's gonna happen to us if we go outside for five minutes, Dean?" He drops the action figure on the floor and turns towards his big brother, who is watching a cartoon on the tiny television, his shot gun by his side, just like it always is. If one would ask Sam to picture his older brother, it would likely include that shot gun.

"Probably nothing," Dean admits, "but dad'll be pissed if he found out we left just 'cause you're bored."

"How's he gonna find out?" Sam asks, looking up at Dean with those wide, puppy dog eyes from where he's seated on the stained carpet.

"Dammit, Sammy!" Dean growls, clicking the T.V. off. "We can go outside and play for five minutes!" Sam's glossy eyes widen, "Fine! Ten!"

Sam smiles smugly, feeling accomplished. The boys head outside into the warm, summer air, and Dean has to admit it feels pretty nice.

* * *

If you enjoyed this and want more, please, _please, _review it and let me know. 'Cause I'm probably not going to go through with the whole ten chapters if no one likes it. And if you didn't, go ahead and tell me why. How am I supposed to improve my writing if I don't know what's wrong with it? Thanks. 3

Love, Katie


	3. Nineteen and Fifteen

Dean is nineteen and Sam is fifteen. The Winchesters are going out to practice shooting but Sam, with everything he has, doesn't want to. He's got an essay due tomorrow and he'd much rather work on that than being a dead-eye shot.

"Come on, Dad, I've got shit to do," was Sam's excuse to stay back at the motel.

"Fuck yeah, you got shit to do, Sam," John says, "And that shit is shooting rounds with me and your brother."

Sam rolled his eyes and jumped in the back seat of the impala, full of rage at his father for not being a normal parent. What kind of a father cares more about how hard you can punch than how fast you can solve a math equation? Sam can do it quicker than any student in his class, no matter what school he's attending. What kind of a father cares more about how many cans you shot from one hundred yards away than how many A's you got on you're report card? Sam got seven out of seven, by the way.

"Come on, Sammy," Dean says, with a playful punch on the shoulder that was probably a little harder than he could help, "it ain't that bad."

Easy for you to say, Sam would think with a roll of his eyes. Dean loves this stuff. Dean loves being a rebel, or whatever it is this family would be considered. Dean's happier than he would be if he had to actually care about school and grades and real fucking life. Dean didn't even go to his graduation; he didn't want to. And all Sam fears is that he won't be able to attend his. And even if he does, who will even be there to support him? Who will actually give a shit that he's done something with his life? More than just kill a monster or ghost, but something he can actually share with people. Something other people can be proud of him for, too.

Dean, Sam thinks, Dean will be there for me. He always is.

Dean glances at his little brother in the backseat, pissed off and annoyed. Dean always tries to joke around with Sam when he gets this way with John, but Sam's too stubborn. He never gives in. Dean knows how much Sam hates doing what they do, hates their life. But what is he supposed to do? He can't encourage him to skip out on them. He can't tell his little brother—one of the only things he has left—to go ahead and leave. Break up the family. Abandon him. Dean feels like a selfish bastard, but he could never watch his brother leave him and feel happy for him. He just couldn't do it.

"Lighten up, will ya?" Dean calls to the backseat. Sam ignores him. "Don't make me shoot you," Dean teases. Sam doesn't look up, but a tiny smile tickles the corners of his mouth.

* * *

Keep telling me what you think. I really apprectiate it. Thanks for reading. 3

Love, Katie.

P.S. I changed the name from "We've Got Work To Do" to "Dean Is and Sam Is" but it's still the same story. Both of those titles suck but I'm bad at titles.


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